


tangled up

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-14 17:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: Philipp has made an art form out of taking people off guard.





	tangled up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltstreets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/gifts).



> This is a treat for my fave Sabs. It's not much but I enjoyed thinking about their relationship.

 

“What do you mean, there are no other hotel rooms left in this city?” Pep screeches into the receiver. It’s a corded phone but he hasn’t let that stop him from his furious pacing. The phone drags behind him like a tail as he yells at the hapless hotel receptionist.

 

Philipp calmly sips on his mug of instant coffee, sitting on the single king bed. He’s got a mug of green tea steeping for Pep, once he calms down enough to notice that Philipp has already unpacked. It’s standard hotel fare but it feels nice to drink something warm after the blizzard outside.

 

He watches as Pep cancels the call and momentarily cannot find anywhere to put it, so he just drops it on the floor with a huff. “This is Mourinho’s fault somehow,” he announces to the room.

 

Philipp smothers his laughter. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” he says, calmly, “he’s somehow arranged both the blizzard and the Annual Hip Replacement conference, leaving us with the only available room to share.”

 

“Yes, exactly,” Pep nods, pleased, as always utterly failing to grasp any sense of sarcasm. 

 

“We can share the bed, you know,” Philipp points out after idly watching him pace for a couple more minutes. “It’s plenty big enough.”

 

Pep focuses on him, as if only just realizing he’s in the room. He looks hesitant. “It...would not be appropriate. I’m your coach.”

 

“No, you aren’t,” Phillipp points out, “or you won’t be, in a couple of months.”

 

“What?” Pep asks, sharply. Philipp almost rolls his eyes.

 

“Manchester City?” he says. “You’re leaving this summer.”

 

“How do you know that?” Pep asks. Philipp raises his eyebrows at him and it startles a laugh out of Pep. “Of course you know. You know everything.”

 

“Only about Bayern,” Philipp demurs. He’s finished with his coffee, so he sets the mug on the side table. Pep watches him with a look in his eyes that makes Philipp feel like he’ll get a poem written about himself one day.

 

“I don’t suppose you snore or kick in your sleep?” Pep asks.

 

“I don’t,” Phillipp says, dryly, “I am, occasionally, partial to a bit of a cuddle.”

 

Pep looks like he doesn’t quite know how to take that and Philipp allows himself a very small, very satisfied, smile.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It probably is Mourinho's fault.


End file.
